


Unless you want to be cut

by Ivartheboneme



Series: Ivar [4]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blood, F/M, Face Slapping, Knifeplay, sub!Ivar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-13 21:44:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10522506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivartheboneme/pseuds/Ivartheboneme
Summary: I got a request on tumblr for an Ivar x reader where the reader is a female warrior who is also the leader of a group of warriors. Ivar is taken hostage and he likes the leader because she stands up to him.Please note that for all of my works that have sexual content, all relevant characters are at least 18 years old. If they are not yet 18 in canon, I age them up.





	

You sit at the campfire, nibbling at a piece of meat before downing yet another cup of ale. Your thoughts are starting to feel blurry; you usually didn't allow yourself to get this drunk but the last few days had been a constant headache. The raid hadn't gone exactly as planned; but you had managed to get away from the other viking camp with some treasure, some supplies and only one shieldmaiden had been lost in the process. At the time being, you had mourned the death of your fellow warrior but also revelled in the fact that you had managed to take a prisoner. And it wasn't just any prisoner; it was a prince. You had praised your second in command for realizing his value.

“Excellent work, Bóthildr; we will get a good price for him.” She had grinned broadly and nodded in agreement. Back then none of you had realized just how much of a grievance he would turn out to be. He hadn't said a word while Bóthildr brought him back to your hidden camp, only stared in sullen silence. It wasn't until he was dumped at your feet and he heard your plans for demanding a ransom that he had reacted; first by laughing and then by threatening you.

“This is not going to end well for you, cunt.” It had been a long day for you and it had only been a few minutes since you learned that Brynja had died during the raid; you couldn't stop yourself from raising your hand and letting it clash against his cheek. He could've cursed, screamed, been saddened or shocked; instead he simply gasped lightly and his eyes lit up. You berated yourself for having lost control and stepped back; you didn't like the way he was looking at you.

“Take him to my tent and make sure that he is properly restrained.” There was clearly something off about him and you didn't trust anyone else to look after him. He had been nothing but troublesome for the past four days. He would constantly try to provoke you; asking questions, calling you names and even eyeing you closely when you got ready for bed. The last part didn't bother you as much as the first two did; the prince was handsome and he never made any cruel or lewd comments when he watched you change clothes. You had heard from Bóthildr that he seemed to be quite skilled with his weapons, in spite of his legs, and it would be a lie to say that it didn't pique your interest. You had almost lost your temper a hundred times these past few days, but somehow you had always managed to never go further than to yell at him and have the restraints around his arms tightened as a punishment. Today, you had realized just how much you needed a break from him and ordered two of your warriors to look after him while you relaxed by the campfire. Your respite didn't last much longer. Just as you have decided that you can have another cup of ale, one of the women come sprinting towards you.

“(y/n), there's something wrong with the prisoner!” You curse and scramble to your feet, running towards your tent. He's slumped together on the small pile of blankets and pillows, his hands tied together behind his back, and his breathing comes out shallow and strained.

“He doesn't seem to react to any communication.” _Shit. Is it something with his legs?_ You had caught him scrunching his face up a few times but whenever you asked him about it he denied that he was in pain. _Fine, if he wants to suffer he can do so. Serves him right for being such a spiteful creature,_ you had thought to yourself while watching him writhe in pain _._ It was a strangely pleasant experience to hear him give up pained noises and beg in a low voice when he thought you had already fallen asleep and couldn't hear him. You move closer, all the while keeping an eye on him in case he were to move. He looked so vulnerable like this; all anger washed away. You aren't completely aware of it, but your tongue flicks out and runs across your lower lip as you study the prince.

“Ivar?” You ask softly. He whimpered as if in pain and you instinctively leaned down close to feel his heartbeat, like you had done so many times with sick or wounded warriors. The second your eyes turn away from his face to instead focus on his chest he moves under you; his head strikes to place kiss on your temple. You jerk back in surprise. Your hand stings his cheek and you think you can hear him giggle a little as his head snaps to the side. Your heart is racing, egged on by both the anger and the shock. He sucks in his lower lip and looks at you with mischief radiating from his entire being.

“He seems to be just fine. You can leave now, both of you.” You say through gritted teeth and the two women hurry to leave.

“Wise of you to make them leave; we don't want them to intrude on such a private moment, do we?”

“Shut up.” You hiss and motion to get back on your feet.

“Going to bed again, (y/n)? Let me come and warm you.” Your heart pounds; as much as he had stared, he had never actually hinted at wanting you. The comments he made were usually about how he would carve you up once he was free.

“Go to sleep, Ivar.” You mutter and continue to move towards the bed.

“You should jump at the opportunity to have a man take you; your little friends here and their fingers can't fill you as good as I can.” A flick switches inside your brain and you turn back to him. The prince lights up as he sees the fury that is written plain across your face. You lunge at him and land on top of him, your hands grabbing on to his shirt.

“I said _shut up_.” You raise your hand and slap him across the face to make sure that the words sink in. Ivar groans as his head jerks to the side. You smirk at him but your face drops when you feel something press against your thigh. Looking down, you realize that you are straddling Ivar and judging by the hardening shape in his pants he is enjoying it very much. You head snaps back up and you see him wetting his lips.

“If you want me to quiet down you are going to to have to try harder.” Ivar informs you and wiggles his hips to make you feel the effect that the punishment has.

“Stop that!” You snarl at him, a reluctant heat gathering between your legs. The prince doesn't listen to you.

“Take away these restraints so that I can take care of you.” You quickly line up the different options in your mind but spend hardly any time at all considering them. _I_ _already_ _know what I want_.

“No.” You growl at him. Wasting no time, you pull his knife from your belt and hold it up for him to see. He lets out an angry hiss and pulls at his restraints, prompting you to laugh at him.

“Something wrong, Ivar? Can't reach me?” He trashes violently under you “Hold still, unless you want to be cut.” He groans and struggles to settle down. You put the knife at the neckline of his shirt and slowly drag it downwards, slicing through the thin fabric. You only make it a few inches before Ivar twitches impatiently and the blade slips, creating a cut in his skin. He whines at the sharp pain. You wipe up the first drop of blood and wiggle your bloody finger in front of his face.

“Look at what you made me do.” He sulks and looks away, refusing to let you win. Your finger touches against his lips and he turns to you again. Ivar opens his mouth, probably about to say something rude. He shuts up when he feels your finger slip between his parted lips.

“Suck it.” You order. It feels risky, demanding something that men usually demanded from women, but your gut is begging for you to make him crumble. At first you think he is going to bite your finger off and that probably was his plan; but as soon as he tastes the blood he gives in. It's a beautiful sight; the arrogant prince submits to your will. He lowers his gaze and does as he's told. A pleasant heat spreads throughout your body as you watch him break under you. The heat is accompanied by a growing wetness between your legs and you notice that you're grinding against the helpless prince. He strokes his tongue over your finger a few times to clean up the last few spots then finishes his task and looks at you pleadingly with those big blue eyes of his that are perfectly framed by dark lashes.

“Good boy.” You say with a smile “Now I'm going to finish with your shirt and this time you're going to be completely still.” He only whimpers in response and you bring the blade to the fabric again. The shirt splits in two pieces and you brush both of them aside to make sure that you can see him properly. You lean in and bite down carefully. His breath hitches and the noise sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. You repeat your actions but this time you bite down harder and Ivar jumps in surprise.

“(y/n)...” He begs and starts to frantically grind against you. Without hesitation you cut him again and he groans loudly.

“I told you to be still.” You wipe the blood up with your index and middle finger and press them to his mouth again. This time Ivar accepts your order without hesitation and sets to cleaning you up. While he does this you let your free hand open the front of your shirt. You have no intention of removing it but you want Ivar to be able to see just the top of your breasts and know that he can't touch them or even see them properly. He licks up the last of the blood and when he looks up again his eyes stop at the sight of your exposed skin. He is just about to speak when you bring the knife to the waistline of his pants instead and let it trace back and forth. Ivar sucks in sharp breath and watches as you destroy a second piece of clothing belonging to him. Your hand brushes against his erection from time to time and you swear you can feel it throb through the fabric; it must be a wonderful sight to see once it has been freed. The thought makes you even more eager to satisfy the aching between your legs and you move a little quicker; with one more deft slice you can free his cock. You run a finger up his length and Ivar squirms as he tries to free himself of his restraints. You drive his knife into the ground next to you and abruptly stand up.

“Where are you going?“ He whines when he loses the feeling of your crotch and hands moving against his manhood. You glare at him and press a finger to your lips, warning him to keep quiet. Your hands unlace your pants and push them down until you can step out of them. Ivar looks on as if his every dream is about to come true. You get on your knees next to him and start to tug at his pants, smirking at him as he begs for you to hurry up. Once the his entire ass and crotch is bare you straddle him again. With your right hand you pull his knife out of the ground and your left hand wraps around his cock. He bucks his hips up, prompting you to smack the flat side of the blade against his nipple. While he is occupied with making another one of those delightful little wailing noises you position yourself over him and guide his cock to your opening. You moan as he fills you up but you barely have time to adjust to the sensation before Ivar starts to push his hips up and slamming into you with every stroke. You growl in warning and Ivar feels something press against his already targeted nipple. He slows his movements and looks at the knife, his knife, that is resting against his skin in a very threatening position. A visible shiver runs through his body and it excites you even more.

“I take you, and you just lie there like a good boy.” You explain while pressing the knife a bit further into the skin “Understood?” Ivar closed his eyes and nodded. You release the poor little hostage but keep the knife in your hand. You start you move slowly, dragging every movement out and pressing down on his cock with all your might. Ivar groans your name over and over as if it is some sort of mantra meant to keep him from going insane. He does a good job of keeping still; for a while. But as you can feel your climax approaching you grow more frantic in your movements and Ivar throws his head back, slams his jaws shut and disregards your orders. He manages to slam inside you twice before you raise your hand and strike him for the third time this evening, eliciting an angry roar from him. He squirms underneath you but his hips are no longer rising from the ground. _His arms must be killing him by now,_ _the way that they are forced behind his back_ _._ The knife trails around his nipple, a reminder for him to behave, and you start to roll your hips again.

“You don't get to finish before me.” You moan. You find the rhythm again, the one that had you so close to the brink when Ivar interrupted by forcing you to discipline him, and you notice that it's even more satisfying now that you are teasing the prince's soft skin with his own bloodstained blade. When you finally reach your peak you throw your head back and cry out. Every part of you feels like it's on fire and it is lucky for Ivar that you have relaxed your right arm so that the knife is hanging at your side instead of at his skin; had it still been there he would be covered in small cuts due to your violent trembling. You close your eyes and wait for the waves of pleasure to calm down and once they have done so you place the knife against your own skin. Ivar hisses as he sees you make a shallow cut. You smile at him as you press the wound to his mouth and he latches on to it. Seeing him like this makes you feel divine; he is sucking at your blood like it was some gift from the gods that he needed to get every last drop of.

“Now you can finish.” You say calmly. He whimpers into your skin but doesn't lift his eyes. The first few thrusts are tentative, as if he's waiting for you to change your mind and punish him again. When the only response he gets is your soft mewling he starts to move with more confidence. After having been denied for so long he doesn't need much time before finishing. He sobs into the skin of your arm, that he still hasn't let go of, and shudders as he empties himself. You finally retract your arm from his wet grip and pat his head. The once so arrogant prince looks dishevelled and you are very tempted to not soothe and take care of him; he would be so much easier to handle if you could keep him in this state of emotional chaos. But a sudden wave of tenderness runs through you and before you can stop yourself you're cutting through his restraints.

“Come, let me take care of those cuts.”


End file.
